


a twist in the wire

by monsterbate



Category: Leverage, White Collar
Genre: Criminal Masterminds, Crossover, Gen, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 17:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13529424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monsterbate/pseuds/monsterbate
Summary: “It’s always nice when they accessorize the art with true beauty,” he offers and in the way of pick up lines, it’s smooth. But Sophie Devereaux isn’t the best in the business for nothing and she’s been playing these games for a very long time. So she shrugs one shoulder and sidles closer, eyebrow lifted just enough to convey interest.When he smiles, it's all surface.





	a twist in the wire

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for everything, including writing a crossover for two fandoms that have both been off the air for many years?

Sophie smiles at the well-dressed man next to her. He is holding a snifter of brandy and eyeing her with obvious appreciation.  

“It’s always nice when they accessorize the art with true beauty,” he offers and in the way of pick up lines, it’s smooth. But Sophie Devereaux isn’t the best in the business for nothing, and she’s been playing these games for a very long time. So she shrugs one shoulder and sidles closer, eyebrow lifted just enough to convey interest.

When he smiles, it’s all surface.

“Oh, you’re good, darling,” Sophie says finally, leaning back incrementally. She lets a glimmer of respect show on her face before she carefully checks her lipstick in the reflection off the framed print behind him, waiting for the emotions racing across the man’s face to settle.

“I don’t follow?” he says, and the confusion is mostly real. She smiles and leans in again, voice low.

“You’re very good at what you’re trying to do here,” she explains. “It’s just that, well, I’m _better_.”

His eyes sharpen for an instant, attention focused like a laser beam. Sophie wishes she could show him off to Nate and co., just to see what they’d make of him. Parker, especially, would be _rapturous_.

“New York, and the FBI outside… It’s Caffrey, yes? Neal?”

Now he’s all caution, hooded and careful. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” Every line of him is tense, ready to flee.

Sophie purrs at his discomfit. “Ah, darling: isn’t that the point?” And she turns on her heel and marches away.

::

Two days later, there’s a new face in the lobby of Sophie’s building and she beams as he rises at her approach.

“Ms. Devereaux,” he says, the charm reinstated into his voice. He’s nearly preening. “What an honor.”

“I wondered if you’d figure it out. Well done.”

“Now the question is what is a woman of your talents doing in New York?” That’s easy to parse: he’s been enjoying his new line of work. He’s territorial.

“Exactly what you’re doing: removing Donald Hamilton. Just in a more...pressing fashion.”

His face storms over, the furor of it majestic on that jawline. She wonders if Nate would mind very much if she—

“What do you know about Donald Hamilton?”

All business then. She pouts. “Well, darling, I know precisely what the FBI knows—and a little bit more since I was _very_ good this year.”

“If you interfere with our investigation—” he starts, and there’s a tenor to his voice that isn’t at all con. It’s law, pure and simple, and it’s one she’s not used to hearing. Not since Nate hung up his white hat.

“Caffrey. What, exactly, do you think it is we do?”

::

Bringing him to the meeting was a mistake.

The moment Parker sees him, she _launches_. There is blonde hair everywhere as she takes him to the ground.

“ _You_ ,” she hisses. “I was _this close_ to that Manet. THIS CLOSE. And it was a _fake_.”

“Manet?” The suit mutters. “I don’t recall you ever stealing a Manet…”

Neal’s face looks sheepish and proud, the expressions fighting for dominance. “Well…”

“Even the museum didn’t know it was a fake,” Nate offers a moment later, piecing it together with a dismissive wave. “They’re still displaying it without anyone the wiser.”

“Except _me_ ,” Parker howls.

“Except her,” Neal agrees, extracting himself and ducking behind his agent. “I don’t know her,” he offers as explanation, hands spread innocently.

“I know who _you_ are, Neal fancy-pants Caffrey, painting fakes and leaving them right where any honest thief could stumble across them—”

Sophie decides this is her cue before Parker reignites, so she steps forward and lays the stolen Faberge egg on the table.

Parker stops mumbling. Eliot steps forward with an interested cant to his eyebrow. Hardison yawns and goes back to whatever he’s in the middle of hacking. Neal draws a hand along the side of the egg before retracting it at Burke’s quelling look. Nate takes everything in and says nothing.

“This is the egg that Donald Hamilton allegedly stole.” Burke says after a moment of waiting. “The egg we’ve been tracking for 6 months, waiting for it to go to market.”

“It’s fake,” both Neal and Parker interject. They glare. Hardison looks up from his phone.

“Is it one of _yours_ , fancy-pants?” Parker asks, voice full of acid.

“Who _are_ you, anyways?”

“She’s Parker,” Nate says dryly.

Neal immediately loses his cool as he goggles at Parker. “You’re _Parker_? _The_ Parker? The Maharaja’s—that was _you_? And Paris, last year? And—”

Parker shrugs and reaches across the table for the egg, casually flipping it into the air.

“Put the evidence _down_ , Parker.” Eliot’s voice ricochets through the room; suddenly, it’s quiet. “Why’s Hamilton got a fake egg?”

Nate emerges from the shadows and accepts the egg from Parker, holding it in the light so that it sparks and glimmers. It _looks_ real, but then Sophie has never needed to worry about forgeries in her line of work—the mark usually confirms it’s real before she relieves them of it. It’s really very _neat_.

“He’s waiting. Or he was. Waiting, that is.”

“Waiting?” Eliot and Burke say, voices crossing one another. Parker smirks as she fades into the background.

“He was going to steal something else. When he did, the furor he’d stir up would hide any messy...transactions that might have happened at the same time.”

“And the publicity of the theft would keep any questions at bay.” Neal finishes, looking somewhat gobsmacked. It’s rather endearing, seeing the poor boy so off kilter.

“How exactly did you find this egg in your possession?” The suit asks, and there’s a grimness to his face that belies the otherwise casualness of his stance. Nate seems to realize he’s fixated on the egg and spins with an overperformed cheerfulness.

“Well, you might say we recently _discovered_ it while verifying that Hamilton had been relieved of, ah, certain _other assets_ that might prove embarrassing where they to be discussed out in the open like this.” He shrugs and holds out the egg to Burke. “It’s yours, if a fake egg will get you what you need.”

The suit’s frown seems to multiply and Neal edges away. Parker, meanwhile, has perched herself on the table in the center of the room and is studying the growing tension with obvious interest. Eliot widens his stance, arms crossed, and Hardison’s only tell is the way he keeps cracking his shoulders as he remains hunched over his phone.

“You’ve undermined three separate Federal operations with this stunt. A set of Robin Hood sticky fingers doesn’t undo that sort of damage.”

Nate lets himself crumple as if defeated and Sophie almost wants to warn him not to oversell it. He can be quite gifted in the right situation, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he’s underestimated the suit slightly. Neal obviously had, and look where that got him: an ankle monitor ruining the perfectly good lines of an otherwise impeccably tailored Italian suit.

“Yes, but—” Nate pauses, considers the egg. “What if I was to tell you that attempting to arrest Donald Hamilton for possession of stolen goods was small potatoes?”

Burke’s expression doesn’t change. He’s thinking, piecing together little bits and pieces in much the same way Nate does when he’s masterminding. It’s attractive in a way Sophie doesn’t really want to investigate.

“You know the CIA is also investigating Hamilton, don’t you? They believe him to be involved in several coups that overthrew formerly American-friendly governments… He has evidence that would compromise national security, doesn’t he?”

“You did say _three_ separate Federal operations. All I have is the paperwork he’s been sitting on. It’s mostly banking papers. A few photographs. Some transfers. A couple of internal memos that he probably shouldn’t have.”

“Standard treason stuff,” Parker offers from her perch. She’s pulled a candy bar from … somewhere and opens it with relish.

“Why are you telling us about this?” The suit asks. It doesn’t pass Sophie’s notice that he’s including Neal in it. At least their partnership goes both ways.

“We were, shall we say, in the neighborhood when we discovered the, er, —”

“Treasonous activities,” Parker supplies. There is chocolate on her chin. “And felonious objects.”

“Right. And while looking into these activities, your—ah— _agent_ ran into our—um—woman on the inside.”

Both Burke and Neal turn to track Sophie’s position in the warehouse. She flutters her fingers at them. Past them, Eliot throws his hair back and rolls his eyes at her.

“And while usually we avoid contact with the authorities, the authorities seemed to _encourage_ said contact in this case.” Nate nods to Neal, once, a gesture of reluctant acknowledgement.

“You’re willing to give us Hamilton, the egg, and proof of treasonous activities? What do you get out of it?” Burke is still frowning, hands balanced on his belt.

“Justice!” Parker crows.

“Closure,” Eliot says a moment later, shoulder hiked uncomfortably.

“Assurance that Hamilton won’t walk on a ‘technicality’,” Hardison offers, voice dry. “Or after some sad excuse of a plea bargain.”

Nate lifts his hands innocently. “It’s very simple: Donald Hamilton is a bad man who does bad things and gets away with them. We merely found ourselves in a position to provide... _leverage_. To the proper authorities, of course.”

Neal looks vaguely uneasy, while Burke rocks back on his heels as he considers the room. Sophie wonders how much they’ve pieced together. It’s unsettling how tense she feels; Nate and Parker and Eliot and Hardison have become rather like a—heaven help her—like a _family_.

Nate has gone back to fiddling with the egg, looking like an easily overlooked simpleton. Parker is scrutinizing her candy bar wrapper. Hardison is lazily scrolling on his phone. Eliot is glaring generally into the middle distance.

Allowing other players into their understood dynamic feels very strange, even if Neal could probably add a certain elegance to some of their messier activities.

“I can’t say I’m comfortable with this,” Burke announces after the silence has stretched into profoundly awkward. “I don’t think it’s possible you came by these things without committing a few crimes of your own, but the opportunity to put a man like Hamilton away is…I can’t pass that up.”

Nate thrusts a hand forward, stepping up into the man’s space. “Glad to hear it; glad to hear it. My people will provide the materials as discussed, Agent Burke. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

“I like to know the name of men I do business with,” Burke says a moment later, eyes shrewd. “Keep things _honest_ , y’know.”

Nate’s smile slips into dangerous territory, though his expression remains openly naive. “Nate. Nate Ford.”

Agent Burke nods as if he’s confirming something he already knows. “I’ve heard about you. Your team. Your... _activities_.”

Nate does not so much as falter. “Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.” He raises a hand to the room around them, almost as if he’s taking a bow. Sophie rather wants to applaud wildly.

Neal is watching the room, avidly, trying to sense the currents that are eddying around them. It’s sweet how protective he seems of his agent-keeper. Shame about the whole law-abiding thing, but Sophie knows better than most that it takes all kinds.

“I suppose so,” Burke says finally, turning away. “I’ll try not to look for you, should you return to New York in the future.”

Parker snorts but does not respond; Eliot has faded back into the shadows and is probably mentally planning dinner. Hardison has produced a laptop from somewhere and is typing like the wind.  

Nate merely nods, stoic, watching them depart. 


End file.
